Memories
by justanotherfic
Summary: A missing scene of sorts from Castle of Wizardry. Polgara and Durnik talk while visiting at Faldor's farm. REWRITE of an old story.


The sun has almost set and the inner yard of Faldor's farm is drenched in murky shadows. She hesitates briefly in the kitchen doorway, eyes drawn to the flickering orange glow from the dying smithy fires across the yard. He's standing by one of the work tables – a dark shape in the dim light. The image is hauntingly familiar; she cannot begin to count the number of times she has stood in this doorway, her eyes involuntarily drawn to his comforting form in the smithy across the yard. It seems so very long ago that she's seen him like this, even though it's been less than a year and a half – barely more to her than the blink of an eye.

His back is turned towards her, his hand running slowly, almost absently, over neatly organized tools on one of the workbenches, his eyes locked on the fire. A ghost of a smile flickers across her face as she looks at him, this man who she knows will follow her to the ends of the world if she asked him to. Her smile morphs into a small frown as she realizes that, unwillingly, she already has. And here he is, fiercely loyal as always.

She finds herself, not for the first time, wishing nothing would have had to change. The last fifteen years she has spent on the farm, although incredibly short, will always hold a very special place in her heart. More so, perhaps, than anywhere else she has ever stayed. Her time in Wacune creeps into her mind uninvited, along with the memories of Ontrose, but she stubbornly puts them away again. Just like Wacune and her long gone champion, Faldor and his farm and the people she knew there will soon be just another memory. All too soon, they will all have left her too. And she knows, all too well, that what is happening around them is inevitable, and something she has been awaiting for almost as long as she can remember. It does not, however, make the loss of friends and family any easier.

Her gaze seeks Durnik's solid back, but when reminded that he too, just as most of her present companions, will before long only be a memory, she quickly looks away. She scans the courtyard with her eyes instead, committing, yet again, the details to her memory. It's a meaningless activity – she knows that she will never forget this place. Her gaze slips back to the smith more or less automatically, and the sight of him forces her towards him, across the darkness of the yard. She stops at the smithy entrance, eyes fixated on the hammer Durnik is holding in his right hand. He doesn't seem to notice her at first, but she watches him pause for just a split second too long as he turns slightly to put the hammer back and she knows that he knows she's there.

"I suppose we will want to leave early in the morning," he says simply, without turning around, and she knows that it isn't a question. Durnik has adapted better to their vagabond ways than she had ever expected him too when they set about on their journey all those months earlier. He is hardly the same simple smith any longer.

"Yes," she says softly, letting her fingers trail lightly over the table where she has seen him work so many times in the past. "It's very important that we reach Riva in time for Ce'Nedra's birthday." Like so many times before, Durnik merely nods.

"Is this coming to an end?" He finally turns to face her, coming to stand on the opposite side of the work bench. "Will we all scatter once we're done with our business at Riva?" He sounds very troubled by the thought and when he finally dares to look into her eyes, there is something in them she has never quite seen before. Something she doesn't dare to start analyze.

"No," she answers truthfully, and he seems to relax a little. "Something very important will happen at Riva, but it will only mark the beginning of something bigger." As she looks at him, she can see that he struggles with that thought, but true to form, he does not ask anything further.

"I suppose this is the last time I will see this place," he says instead, sounding a little disturbed by the thought. For a second she wants to retort that she has no power over that, but she realizes quickly that she is perhaps the only one who does. "It was a good place to live in," he adds solemnly and she follows his gaze as it looks out over the abandoned yard.

"It definitely was," she agrees, finding the smith's calloused hand across the work bench. His gaze flickers momentarily towards where her slender hand covers his knuckles and wrist, before it settles on her face again. "It was a simpler time."

"Something tells me that nothing will ever be that simple again."

It's an unusual statement coming from Durnik, and for an instant she sorely regrets having to be the one who has changed him so. Somewhere deep down, she has known that he would have thoughts and questions about the strange and dangerous situations they repeatedly manage to end up in, but she has always appreciated the fact that he doesn't voice them. She realizes now that she's hardly been fair to him. Everything that has happened must have been as confusing for him as it has been for Garion, and she knows the trouble the boy has had with accepting it all.

It's easy to forget, at times, that the others, by necessity, don't share her and her father's understanding of the situation. She's confident that Prince Kheldar, being the intuitive and intelligent man that he is, already has a pretty clear understanding of what is and what will be happening. Barak and Hettar, being Alorns, are bound to have some general idea, but the rest of them know very little. Or in Garion and Durnik's case, nothing at all. It's only natural that they are a little confused.

"There will be a lot of changes in the weeks to come," she admits with a comforting smile and squeezes his hand slightly. "But they are necessary changes. They will restore things to how they are supposed to be."

He seems to ponder that for a while and she can't help but to think of the events she knows are nearing. The joy of bringing the Orb of Aldur back to its rightful place and owner is almost overwhelming. The thought of Belgarion seated on the thrown in the Hall of the Rivan King, brings almost as much joy, but also a lot of sadness. For 1300 years her mission has been to ensure the survival of the Rivan line, the descendents of her beloved sister. It's a relief to know that she has succeeded; that there will again be a King at the court in Riva, but deep down the knowledge that this is just the beginning gnaws at her soul. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been Garion – this little boy that's been more of a son to her than any of his predecessors. Maybe if she hadn't loved him more than life itself, she wouldn't have been so apprehensive of turning him over to his destiny.

As she looks up, she meets the gaze of the only other person who can claim to love the boy just as much. And she worries about how Durnik will take the news; how Durnik will feel about having to give up the boy who's both his friend and the son he never had. She watches him turn back to the fire, causing her fingers to drop back to the wooden surface of the work bench again. He eyes the tools on the wall one last time, before he sighs and turns to make his exit.

"I'll make sure the horses are packed and ready to leave first thing after breakfast tomorrow," he says matter-of-factly, and she realizes that once again he has accepted what she has told him without question. For a split of a second she longs to tell him, to reward him for his unwavering loyalty and understanding. She aches to lessen the shock of the news he will receive in merely a few days time. Wants to tell him that the boy he loves like a son is really the King of Riva and future God-slayer. Not just for him, but to lighten her own heart and her own guilt to the only man she knows will always offer her absolution.

But, she also knows that the success of the Prophecy depends on her not telling.

"You are a good man, Durnik," she says instead, her hand settling comfortingly on his arm. He smiles faintly in the darkness and she is helpless in front of the smile that spreads on her own lips. Quickly she draws him close, her arms enveloping him in a short embrace. "You dear, dear man," she whispers, wishing for a second that she would never have to let him go. When she does, she knows that he's blushing, even though she cannot tell in the dim light, and her smile widens.

"I'd better make sure that the children are asleep," she says then, pushing away the regret the statement calls up in her heart. Durnik nods in reply, but doesn't seem quite able to let her go with his eyes. "Good night, Durnik," she whispers, allowing her fingers to trace his cheek momentarily.

"Good night, Polgara," he answers, his voice trembling at the uncharacteristic use of her name.

With a last squeeze of his hand, she leaves him watching her perfect shape hurry towards the guest quarters.

She can only hope he gets more sleep than she does.


End file.
